


That's Not How This Works

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [107]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Instant Attraction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 19:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: The man waiting for him at the bar looks nothing like Loki expects.





	That's Not How This Works

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Blind date: Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

The man waiting for him at the bar looks nothing like Loki expects.

He’s young and handsome as fuck, with a blond beard Loki’s hind brain already has plans for; blue eyes and broad shoulders and jesus christ, the guy’s _young_. That’s the part that Loki can’t get over, that stops him dead in his tracks.

It kind of ruins the entire smooth and nonchalant entrance he had planned, the air of indifference he was hoping to weave from the one suit in his closet and his slim wingtips polished high. He needs tonight to go well, needs this to turn into regular and serious money, and he’d made a point of dressing like he didn’t, like he had a dozen clients on speed dial who’d be happy to take this man’s place.

But he doesn’t, damn it; this man’s the only one who’s reached out to him, and to be fair, Loki should’ve put his ad up a lot sooner, shouldn’t have waited until the eleventh hour--i.e., three days before his rent was due--to take action. He’d been hoping for a miracle, was the thing, a last-minute gift from the gods, and look where that eternal optimism had gotten him: down to his last $20 and on a date with a man who only wanted him because he looked like he'd be fun to fuck.

Well, he’d told himself on the way over, dodging people on the street, even if it all went to shit, at least he’d get some food out of it. He hadn't had a decent meal in a week.

Loki’d had a certain picture in his mind of his client, a vision of salt and pepper, of balding, of a fine suit that hid a wrinkled body, an aging lion of Wall Street who these days could only pay for fresh meat. That was all he had to go on, really; the website didn’t let you see photos of the clients, whereas the clients, of course, demanded a dozen angles of their potential ‘sugar babies’--a vile term that was honestly the worst part of this whole process, the most demeaning. If he’d had time, he would have tried to sign up with an escort agency, to align himself with women and men who could proudly call themselves whores. But he didn’t have that, time, and so he’d been reduced to notion of being someone else’s ‘baby,’ of looking for a ‘daddy,’ and so help him--Loki’d thought as he pushed through the doors into _Le Cercle_ \--if his client wanted to be called that, he might just get up and leave, threat of eviction be damned. There was only so far he was willing to demean himself to some grizzled old man.

Except the man waiting for him at the bar, wearing the agreed-upon white rose in the lapel of his beautifully cut suit, is neither; he’s impossibly gorgeous and maybe even younger than Loki and he’s coming Loki’s way, holding out one large, tanned hand.

“Please,” the man says, “tell me you’re Loki.”

“I am. Or I was when I left home, at least. Last time I checked.” Wonderful--he’s babbling. Hell of a first impression he’s making.

But the guy doesn’t seem to notice because his hand keeps moving past the point of shaking and slides up to catch Loki’s shoulder and squeeze, to edge them away from the bar and into the soft shadows beside it. “Since you’re Loki,” he says, his voice like distant thunder, “why don’t you call me ‘Thor,’ hmm?”

Loki’s idiot tongue gets away from him. “I’ll call you anything you like.”

A little smile, a little hint of mischief that Loki really, really quite likes. “Tempting. But before I take you up on that, we should have dinner, don’t you think?”

Loki’s vaguely aware of the movement around them, the rest of the restaurant and its well-heeled diners going about its routine. There’s the chime of crystal, the sound of silver forks ringing gently off of china plates, of low voice and practiced, patterned laughter. He knows that they’re in the way, that they’re blocking the entrance to the bar, but Thor doesn’t seem to give a damn about it, taking up all this room, and so neither does he.

“Do we have to?” Loki says, lost in those sky sky blue eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

Thor makes a tiny, hot sound, and behind his beard, his skin runs beautifully red. “I ordered a drink for you,” he says. “A French 75, like you asked for. I know you want to have that.”

“You don’t have to wine and dine me, Thor.”

“I want to, though. You deserve it.” Thor’s fingers brush Loki’s face, run a strand of hair behind his ear. Linger there, the heel of his palm catching Loki’s jaw. “God, I knew you were lovely, but my god, Loki: your photos do not begin to tell the real tale.”

It makes him feel brazen, that sort of kindness coming from Thor’s gorgeous mouth. “Then you should take me somewhere," Loki says, "where I can show you the rest. All the parts of me you haven’t seen yet.”

Thor laughs, a warm chuckle that seeps into Loki’s body like bourbon. “Are you always this forward?”

“This? Pffft. If I was being forward, I’d get you kicked out of this place.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmmm. They’d probably never let you back in. Conduct unbecoming, and all that.”

He can see Thor’s resolve weakening, cracking, and why this man is trying to bring propriety to the evening, some semblance of bullshit courting when they both know why they’re here, why Thor asked to meet him in the first place, Loki can not fucking fathom.

“There are things we have to talk about,” Thor says. “Things we have to come to some sort of agreement about.”

“There are.” Loki turns his head and brushes his lips over the inside of Thor’s wrist. He can feel the man tremble. It’s fucking exquisite.

Thor tries again. “That’s how it works. There has to be a negotiation.”

Loki looks up at him, drinks in the shine in Thor’s eyes. “Is that how you usually do this? Talk before you let yourself touch?”

“What?”

“With your other dates. Other men like me you arrange to meet. Do you always make yourself wait?”

There’s a flicker of something over Thor’s face, a flash that Loki can’t read. “With the others, ah--yes. I guess.”

He opens his mouth and lays the tip of his tongue on Thor’s pulse, teases the beat of blood there, watches Thor blush. “Well, I suppose I’m not like the others then, am I, daddy?”

Thor sweeps a hand through his hair, messes the fuck up each carefully arranged curl. “No, baby. You’re not.”

*****

Thor doesn’t kiss him there, tucked in the tasteful shadows of the bar. Nor does he in the town car that appears the moment they step out of _Le Cercle_ , Thor’s hand pressed to the small of Loki’s back, the taste of his skin still on Loki’s tongue. They sit facing each other on opposite sides of the car with only their knees touching and the look on Thor’s face, the want, the fists he makes and tucks under his thighs, is going to live in Loki’s dreams for the rest of his life; his big, beautiful man shaking like a leaf and doing everything in his power not to do the one thing he’s dying to. He doesn’t say anything, either, just stares at Loki in a way that makes him feel raw, makes him feel like he’s got his trousers open and a hand on his cock and Thor is watching him jerk himself off instead of sitting quietly across from a man he met twenty minutes ago, a man who might, if Loki plays his cards right, put his body on permanent retainer.

The ride last maybe ten minutes but it feels like a goddamn lifetime and by the time the car slows, Loki’s cock has moved passed stiff to straight up good and fucking hard. All from just looking, from being looked at like that, from the promise of what sits in the air between them.

“When we go inside,” Thor says, his voice remarkably steady, “if I do anything you don’t like, anything, no matter how small, you have to tell me right away. That isn’t negotiable.”

“Ok. I can do that. As long as the same goes for you.”

A smile, a brief blowout of breath. “All right.” The car comes to a stop and Thor slides over and grabs the door handle, gives Loki his back. “We do have to talk, you know,” he says. “After. We can’t just rush into this.”

“Of course not,” Loki says, aping serious. “Because that’s not how it works.”

Thor squares his shoulders and tugs on the handle, lets in a rush of the night. “Right.”


End file.
